Silence Speaks a Million Words
by Arsosah
Summary: Fire and water. Dead heroes. I am not the same anymore. I am floating on the surface, dazed, so afraid that someone, something, will come and grab me and drag me down. Because this time, I'm not sure I can get up again.
1. 1

**Silence Speaks a Million Words**

**1.  
**

I wake up to a quiet house, to sleeping brothers, to bandages around my head. A bit confused, I put my hand to my temple and touch the fabric, feel the pain behind it.

_What happened?  
_

I can't remember.

I sit up with effort, my whole body aching. I frown at the recliner, wondering why it's in here, why Darry sleeps in it. Soda lies next to me, as usual, and I let my hand fall on his shoulder, gently shaking him. His eyes pop open.

"Pone!" He cracks up a tired smile when he sees me. He looks sad, though.

"What's wrong, Soda?"

"Nothin'." He shakes his head, but he's lying, I know. I can always tell. "Nothin's wrong. Lay down again, Pone. Go back to sleep."

"Why's it so quiet?" I look around in the room. It is light, so it must be day, but our house is always vivid during days.

"C'mon. Lay down again, will you? Please, Pone."

I do as he says, I'm still tired. I want to ask him more, but I have a feeling I shouldn't. Maybe tomorrow.

xXx

Sometimes I try to read books, but they all have their heroes. I read the words over and over, turn pages, but I can't get through them. There are always something that reminds me, something that gives my head a dull ache and makes my stomach flip, and I close the books, frustrated, and throw them away. Life steals everything away from me. I can't even read anymore.

Sometimes I draw pictures, but when they are almost finished, I crumple the papers and toss them to the floor. It is covered with fake snowballs during the day, until Darry or Soda walk in, pick them up to throw them in the trash. They never say anything about the mess I make. They never look at the drawings either, doesn't see the faces I am trying to capture with my pencil. It is a conflict inside me, what I want to remember and what I want to forget. What stories I make up, because most of the time, I don't read or draw. Most of the time, I just lie to myself. It's easy to get lost in the stories in my head because they are so much better than reality. So much better than books and pictures, or to sleep with nightmares. There was a day I truly believed in them, but now I don't. Still, they are nice to have.

Since I woke up after the rumble, days seem to be endless in my room. I even get my food brought in here, but every day it just gets cold on my nightstand. I am following the doc's orders of lying still, letting my head heal. I'm not alone. There is always someone in our house, mostly Soda, occasionally Darry, and when they can't get away from work, Two-Bit or Steve hovers nearby. Sometimes I think I always will be in here, that time somehow has stopped and caught me, that I don't ever need to face the world again. It is a comfortable thought, in a way.

It all ends a day in October, though. I'm lying in my bed, propped up against pillows, watching the raindrops on my window. I have count the minutes today, like every day. It's still early. I have smoked two cigarettes. I am just finishing off the third, and when it's just a butt I put it out in the ash tray, making sure all the embers die, because I remember the fire

_warmer than the sun, brighter than the stars, more golden than the dawn, and we ran into it like we couldn't die  
_

My hand starts to tremble.

The door creaks open. I stop in my action, my fingertips still gripping the cigarette butt, and I look up. I just have to throw one glance at my oldest brother's face to know that it's over.

xXx

The morning I'm supposed to go back I look at the pile of school books on my floor, the work I never did. Then I start to stuff them into my backpack, one after another, determined, and I think that I can do this, and I will do this. It can't be that hard. It can't be _harder_, at least. Reality exists everywhere, there is no escape from it. Being in my room, being in my house, being in school - it won't matter. It will all stay the same.

When I'm done, I get dressed. I have my jeans and my sweater. I find my shoes under my bed, and I look at the spots where the fire was too close, too hot, where it left small burn marks, and I wonder if anyone else can see them too, and smell the smoke.

_red flames, rising to the ceiling, eating old wood and benches and the altar, eating Gone with the wind and cigarettes and the gun, getting closer, closer, closer_

I shiver. Probably not. If they had, I think they would have bought me new ones.

I sit on my bedside and tie the laces, slowly. I wiggle my toes. They have been free from shoes for more than two weeks by now, but my feet don't protest. Maybe my body is happy now, leaving the bed and room, but my head is not really with it.

I go to the bathroom and drag a comb through my stupid hair and grease it, and I look at my eyes in the mirror and I hate them. They are green, not gray, no deep dark puppy eyes, no ice blue, and my chest tightens a slight minute and it gets hard to breathe.

I turn on the tap and close it. I hate water too.

xXx

Mouths are moving, talking, laughing, and I wonder how they can do it so easily, but maybe it's all an act. Like the way my smile is as I step into the kitchen and sit down in my seat. Like the way I reach out a hand to snatch a piece of bacon from Two-Bit's plate, because he's not looking and it was the last one he had. He blames Steve when he notices, and my fingers crumble the bacon underneath the table, letting the small pieces fall to the floor, and I never say to them that it was me who took it, not even when their words take them to a wrestling game in the living room.

I think Soda knows but he keeps his mouth shut. I think I see him hide a smile behind his hand.

Darry asks if I'm fine, and his tone is casual, but he would never make it as an actor. I tell him I am. By the look in his eyes, I realize I would probably make it as a movie star. I think of Paul Newman and that day before the Day, and the knot in my stomach tightens but I keep smiling.

They all do.

We all do.

xXx

I don't know what to do with breakfast because everything I put in my mouth tastes like baloney, and I can't swallow. So when Soda leaves for clothes and Darry for keys and Two-Bit and Steve head out to smoke, I hide my food in the trash and pretend I ate it.

No one asks anyway. I don't have to lie.

xXx

Eyes watch me in the rearview mirror, and I grab my backpack and the handle to the car door, and I throw the door open without thinking. Lucky me, I don't scratch the paint on the car beside us, because that spot is still empty.

"Jesus, kid," Steve mutters and I shoot him a look and shrug, with a wryly smile. Maybe I could say that I knew the spot was empty, but he knows I wasn't looking.

His car is his baby.

Two-Bit throws his arm around my shoulders and cracks something that could be a joke but is probably just something coming to my defence, and I think that he's my buddy, I still have buddies, the bad stories in my head can go away because I'm not alone at all.

They stick to my side, Two-Bit and Steve, all the way over the school yard and through the doors and to my locker. I know they glare at everyone glancing at us, and first I think all the looks we get are because of Johnny.

But they are not.

Why would anyone care about Johnny? He was a greaser in their eyes and not a hero at all, not even just a greaser. I hear them mutter about Bob Sheldon and I realize I'm not just a greaser either. Not anymore.

_I killed him, Pony_

The pit that starts to grow in my stomach has no end.

xXx

I leave my bag with the books in my locker and Two-Bit takes a look at my time-table.

"English," he says, but Steve snorts.

"It's Monday."

"And here I thought I had ditched two days," Two-Bit says, sadly.

I take my Social studies books because I remember I have that first period on Monday. I don't remember which classroom though, but Two-Bit steers me the right direction and doesn't leave me until the bell rings.

When it does, he pats my shoulder and says, "Good luck, kiddo."

I walk through the door with my peers and find a seat, but someone tells me to move so I do. I used to have a friend in this class, but there are no friendly faces, and those who don't glare at me look down at their laps or books or table tops.

I sit down by the window, staring at raindrops dripping on the glass, thinking of water and fire and bruises and ice. When the bell rings again, I haven't got any notes in my book and I don't know what my teacher said or what we even did. I blink twice before I notice how Two-Bit sticks in his rusty head, gesturing at me to come, and not until then do I realize that the classroom is empty.

xXx

In math, we have a quiz, but all I can think of is other problems;

_what is seven minus two, the answer; five, if two people save six kids, how many people will die in the end, the answer; two, for how long can a human stay under water and survive, the answer; until your friend stabs a boy, how many stabs put a human down, the answer; one, how many times can you nearly die in a week, the answer; three. How many deaths can you see before you break?_

I think I don't want to know.

My pen leaves no marks at all on my paper, and when I hand it in my teacher starts to say something, but I just walk away.

xXx

"You all right?" Two-Bit says at lunch.

I nod because I think I am. It hasn't been too bad. It is like I'm still in my bed at home, only that I move around and sit in different rooms at different desks with different people. This wasn't harder.

I drink my Pepsi sitting on the hood of Steve's car, picking at my sandwich, feeding the birds on the street. Pigeons and magpies fight over my food, like a small rumble in another society. I watch them, quietly, stubbornly pushing away the thoughts of another rumble, another day, another time, another life.

"Pony?"

I look up.

They tell me to climb into the car and I do. When we drive away, the birds scatter, but I turn my head, looking out through the rear window. They are along again, fighting over the crumbs.

xXx

There is dinner on the table and my brothers and I sit around it. I pick in my food with my fork, pick - pick - pick, until a warm hand lands on top of mine.

"You ain't hungry?"

I can't meet worried eyes. Looking down, I say, "I ate a lot at lunch."

"Just try," Darry says from his seat opposite mine. His plate is almost empty.

I nod, sticking the fork into a piece, sticking it into my mouth, chew chicken, chew baloney, and then I race to the toilet and throw up.

xXx

The house is quiet in the early morning. I think of getting up and watching the sunrise, but the memory of another one makes me stay. I know the world keeps going. There will be another day, and days. Days I will go and wonder, who will we lose next?

I am not the same anymore. I am floating on the surface, dazed, so afraid that someone, something, will come and grab me and drag me down. Because this time, I'm not sure I can get up again.

* * *

_I could only manage 2 months without writing Outsiders-fanfiction! I hope you will like this. Reviews are very much appreciated.  
_

_And happy holidays! :)  
_

_Disclaimer: I don't own the Outsiders - Hinton does.  
_


	2. 2

**Silence Speaks a Million Words**

**2.**

I climb out of bed, careful to not accidentally nudge my sleeping brother. Tonight the church burst into flames and smoke again, collapsing before my eyes. I walk out in the dark hallway with Johnny's scream still ringing in my ears, sounding terrified and broken.

But at least it wasn't me screaming, waking my brothers up. I know they need their sleep.

I feel tired and dirty, like the way I felt when I met Darry and Soda at the hospital that night. Like ash is still clinging to my clothes and face and hair. Like I'm still dusty and grimy, and stiff from sleeping on a hard floor for five nights. I know it was two weeks ago. A rumble, a concussion, two deaths ago. But it also happened just now. It's not the first time I've dreamt about it, and probably won't be the last- I think it will always haunt me.

The bathroom's floor tiles are cold against my bare feet. I undress and leave my pyjamas in a heap in the corner, shivering in the morning air.

The shower is warm, though. I stand in the spray of water, making sure to turn my face away from it, with my eyes closed. Every time I stand in here, my thoughts make me uncomfortable. It's the memories, I can't get rid of them.

_Give the kid a bath, David_

I hear the voice as if it's next to my ear. I open my eyes, trying to stifle my panic. Our house is too quiet - every other time I have taken a shower since it happened, I have heard my brothers talk, or the radio playing, or sounds from the TV. This time it's too quiet. It makes it all come back.

_You need a bath, greaser_

I feel how the water rises above my feet.

I didn't know that the plug was in the bathtub's drain. Bewildered I look down - the water, oddly cold and dark and murky, is reaching my ankles. I turn off the shower, but the water is still rising, faster and faster, reaching my knees by now.

I scream as hands land on my shoulders, pressing me backwards, down. I am back there, in the park, in the fountain, and they grab me, force my head under the surface, drunk and laughing, and I have to clamp my mouth shut, I can't _breathe_ -

It's just like it was then, but this time there is no Johnny. I'm going to die.

I think I hear someone burst through the unlocked door, and I feel hands grab me, different from the others, and I stop struggling, let the person hurl me up to sit.

"Jesus, Pone... what happened? What the hell happened?"

It is my brother. His worried face is close to mine, his eyes search to find my gaze, but the room is spinning. I can't focus. Only his grip around my upper arms keeps me steady, his voice forcing me back into reality.

I spit out liquid, breathe hard and ragged.

"The water..." I manage to whisper when my lungs finally has gotten the air they need, and I cough again. The bathtub is halfway filled, but the water is clear and warm.

"What's with the water?" Soda looks like he wants to shake me when I don't answer. "_Pony_?"

What is wrong with the water? It killed me.

But I'm alive. I am. I didn't die. Bob did. Johnny did and Dally did. Not me, right. I know that.

"Nothin'. It's nothin' with the water." I take another breath, avoid his eyes while sticking my hand down deep, unplugging the drain so the water can swirl out. It's getting easier to breathe with every inch that disappears. I'm not in the fountain. I'm home.

"You screamed bloody murder." Soda is pale. He lets go of me, sits down on his heels while letting out a puff of air. I turn my head to face him this time.

It _was_, I want to say.

_Blood on concrete, a knife in Johnny's hand. He killed that boy, to save me_

But I only say, "I think I slipped."

xXx

He is soothing me in our room, but I think he mostly soothes himself, examining the back of my head, and I sit quiet, hands folded on my knee and let him. What happened in the bathroom, I don't know. But I'm scared.

I don't show it, though.

Voices and water and hands - it was what happened in the park. It happened here too, but only in my mind. I don't know if it was a lie I told Soda, or if it was the truth, that I did slip and fall under. I know that David wasn't there, and Bob is dead and Randy has changed. He was here once, but not in the bathroom. Why would he be here, trying to drown me?

Soda asks if I'm hurt somewhere, he asks me three times before I answer. I tell him no. I tell him I'm fine. He hands me clothes and I dress myself. All the time his eyes are big, like he still doesn't believe that I'm okay.

Maybe I'm not.

xXx

"You have to eat," Darry says, concerned, when I enter the kitchen. He guides me down into a chair and places a bowl in front of me. I know I can't go like this forever, not eating. One day they will start about it, and I guess this is the day.

Staring down, I mumble, "I can't eat baloney."

My brother raises his eyebrows. "It's not baloney."

"It tastes like it."

All food.

"How can it taste like baloney? It's cereal. It's not even close."

"I don't know. It just does." I'm sitting hunched, watching my brother move around in the kitchen, pouring a cup of coffee, grabbing the morning paper from the counter.

"You have to eat anyway." He nods at my food, like he's encouraging me, then sits down to read.

And I think that I should try to please him, because _he_ is trying. I'm still not used to this caring Darry, even if I know he did care before too. I just never realized it then. And now he tries so hard to make my life right back on track, and I don't do anything to help him out. But this. I almost feel nauseous.

"I _can't_!"

This time, his gaze on me is tired. "Ponyboy-"

I glare without purpose, interrupt him with a statement. "You want me to throw up."

He sighs. "No, I don't. And you won't throw up if you just get used to eating again. You haven't eaten properly for weeks."

"Because _everything_ tastes like _baloney_, I told you!"

The paper rustles. "Just try it. Maybe it won't this time." He adverts his gaze, and I mutter, picking up my spoon.

The cereal floats in milk, and I dip the spoon, let it come up with as little contents as possible, and I grimace at it, before sticking it into my mouth.

It is baloney.

"Don't spit it out!"

I chew and swallow out of anger, push my bowl away. But Darry's hand stops it before it reaches the middle of the table and pushes it back to me. He's stronger.

"At least half of it."

It is a fight I won't win, I can tell by his eyes. Usually he would have left for work by now, but he sits relaxed, waiting, like he has all the time in the world. But time can end fast. I know it, he should know it too. He wasn't there with Johnny, but he saw Dally.

One second he was alive, the other, he was not.

"One third," I say, trying to force the images away.

"Half. And then I won't nag about that you fainted in the bathtub."

Soda must have told him.

"I didn't really faint," I try. "I just slipped."

"Doesn't matter. You need food. Pony, I'm serious."

Under his watch, I slowly eat my one third. I know he's peeking above the paper, above the coffee cup, to see that I obey. The clock ticks. Soda comes in, greased and dressed, throws himself down with a sandwich and eyes me like Darry does.

Two-Bit and Steve don't show up to interrupt, to save me.

I drop the spoon. One third. It's all I can manage.

Darry eyes the bowl. Sighs again. "All right."

xXx

I get lost in the hallways after math. It is strange, I know this school. After class, I wait just outside the door for Two-Bit or Steve or both, but none of them show up. And I stand there, still, when the bell rings for the second time and I should be somewhere else. Clutching my book, I shift on my feet, and then I start walking.

There are doors and lockers and endless floors and stairs, and I don't know where I am. I should know. There is a buzzing noise in my head and I think it's my own pulse speeding up.

I slip into a boys restroom, drop my books on the floor and walk up to the mirror. The face in it is me, but the hair is not.

_I'm sorry I had to cut your hair, Pony_

He cut my hair, but I kind of killed him. I raced to the church first. He shouldn't have followed but he did. Why did he? He always listened to Dally, but not that one time, when it was important.

I stand there forever, until the bell rings again, and then I go out in the hallway, and this time, I manage to find my locker and Two-Bit leaning against it.

"Hey, Pone," he smiles. It doesn't completely reaches his eyes, it never does nowadays.

"Where were you?" I mumble, fiddling with my empty hands. He eyes them, and I briefly wonder where my books are.

"Yeah, sorry 'bout that. My teacher and I had a little disagreement before."

I don't have a retort and his smile disappears.

"You all right?"

"I'm okay." I look around. "Um..."

"What, Pone?"

"What's next class?"

He eyes me, weirdly. "Last bell just rung, Pone. We're goin' home."

xXx

I make a sandwich and I eat it. I think Darry would have been proud. I did it for him, I want to show him that I'm trying.

I rummage through my bag for my homework, but I still can't find my math books. A bit worried, I do the other homework instead, English and History, and then I watch TV until Soda gets home with Steve. They are loud and happy, crashing down inside our house with groceries and the smell from work. Soda throws himself down next to me, asks about my day, and I tell him small parts, the normal parts, but it feels like I'm talking about somebody else.

I wonder if he remembers this morning, but I guess he does. He seems a bit wary when he says he's going to take a shower, and I nod and go to my room. When I hear the sound of running water, I put my fingers into my ears.

xXx

_You know I did save your life, _I hear Johnny's voice. _Twice._

My hand stops, lifts the tip of the pencil half an inch over the paper. It wasn't even supposed to be him this time, it was supposed to be Soda. It should be Soda, my plan was to draw Soda.

But it's Johnny's eyes that stare up at me.

_It ain't fair,_ they tell me. _That I'm not alive._

"I know," I agree with him.

_It hurts. Fire. It really hurts.  
_

"I'm sorry."

I am. I truly, truly am. But I can only hope he believes me.

* * *

_Thank you so much for reviews and adds! I hope you like this chapter as well._


	3. 3

**Silence Speaks a Million Words**

**3.**

There is a knock on my door. I sit on my bed, paper and pen still in my hands, but this time, I really draw my brother. He's sitting bareback on his quarter horse, all smiling, and I smile a little too, remembering the time when we were happy. When we had parents and could pretend we had horses. When the only loss I had suffered was from a hurt bird I had found, and nursed in a box for three days.

I didn't really know then how life can crash down. I was so young and stupid.

My pen almost slips when the door opens up and surprises me.

"Pony? Dinner."

They never give up, even though I try. The good mood I thought I had disappears in an instant. Frowning at my paper, continuing to draw, I mutter, "I ate already."

I can almost hear how he smiles. "Nice try. C'mon."

Annoyance grows in me. "I _did_, Darry."

"Yeah? And what exactly did you eat?"

"A sandwich." This time I look up at him, but just a glance, taking in his expression.

He leans himself against the wall, crossing his arms. "You think that's enough?" he asks me.

I quickly advert my gaze again. The horse needs more mane. I draw some thin lines. I don't know if I'm that good at drawing horses. The proportions are not quite right, the legs a bit too long, the head a bit too small. The eyes not warm and gentle enough. But Mickey Mouse was a mean horse. Only Soda could handle him.

"Pone?"

Soda needs to smile bigger. He's almost always happy. But I remember when they sold that horse, he cried all night. And I thought I could fix it for him. Fix the horse back.

"Ponyboy!" Darry barks, his patience gone. I wonder how many times he has said my name.

"What?" I glare. Why can't I ever be left alone?

"Put that away. _Now_."

Rolling my eyes, I do as he says.

xXx

"You have any homework?"

"I did it." I sit with one elbow at the table, leaning my head in my hand. With the other, I roll a potato over my plate with the help of my fork, my gaze fixed on it. It has been pretty quiet around the table until now. I know that they are watching me. Counting every bite I put in my mouth.

"Want me to check it for you?"

They are done eating. Their forks clutter as they put them down.

"No, it's all right, I got it," I lie.

I don't want him to check it. I know he will ask about math. I am weeks behind, he wouldn't believe me if I say I have no work in math to do.

I roll the potato back again.

"Pone? Eat up, please."

I am startled that the last comes from Soda. I stare at him first, his smile is there but tired. I look down on my plate again. My portion isn't big, and I have only eaten a little of it. I don't know why all food makes me feel sick. It tastes baloney. It tastes like Windrixwille.

"I ain't that hungry," I mumble.

I feel the tension, their eyes on me.

"Pony-"

"I can eat more later, okay?" I drop my fork too, lean back. "I promise."

They share a gaze, and then Darry sighs. He rises and puts the dishes away.

Mine too.

xXx

I sneak out to smoke and watch the stars. Sitting on the porch, with my head tilted backwards, I see them. The light dots in the sky that should be calming, they always were before, but they are not now. I know that some of them are dead. They died down, yesterday or thousands of years ago, but their light still travel to us, trick us to believe they are still burning. It's like looking back in time, watching them alive when truth is, they are dead and gone, not shining at all.

I wonder if humans can do the same. Still shine, still stay gold despite death, and reach us from the place where they are now. Because there are things of Johnny and Dally everywhere.

Johnny's house is still just a block away. His dropped cigarette butts cover his favorite spot at the lot. He has his locker at school. His name stands in the newspaper clippings.

Dally has a shirt in our laundry basket. I have his lighter in my pocket, the one he gave me in Windrixwille and forgot to take back. I just lit my cigarette with it.

In my mind. They are in my mind, constantly. Maybe that makes them still exist. As long as they are memories.

Stars are fire. My cigarette glows in the dark.

I wonder what started it. If it was my last cigarette inside the church, or Johnny's. If we failed putting them out. If it was the kids, finding my lighter. Did Dally smoke in there? I can't remember.

_Johnny's scream just before Dally knocked me out_

I have to smoke the rest with closed eyes. I don't want to see the ember.

_Fire. It hurts, Ponyboy. I can't feel anything below my waist but it hurts it hurts it hurts_

xXx

I shift in bed again, and this time, Soda reaches out a hand and turns on the lamp. I blink in the sudden light.

"We have to talk," he says. The seriousness in his voice scares me. I turn to face the wall, but his hand stops me. "Pone, listen."

"What? I need to sleep," I mumble. But I know what he wants to say.

"You need to eat!"

"I do!"

"Well, then you have to eat more. You always did before. I can see you're losin' weight."

I put an arm over my eyes. I don't want to see his.

"I'm just worryin' a bit, Pone," he says softly, sadly. "It's a lot of things, you know. 'Bout the food and your dreams and stuff. I know this is hard... with Johnny and Dally-"

"Don't!" I beg.

I feel his fingers around my wrist, and he gently moves my arm. I look up at him. His brown eyes are deep.

"I wish you talked to me," he sighs.

"I am."

"Yeah, you are. But it ain't like before."

Before.

Before the hit, before the fountain, the knife, the fire.

Before Johnny's pale face and Dally's run towards us. Before gunshots.

What does he want me to say? I don't know. So I don't say anything.

xXx

She's Mom's age but is nothing like her.

"Where are your books?" she asks me, and I look down at my desk but it's empty. When I look around, everyone is working, except me, and she stands in front of me, stares with cold eyes. She has never liked me.

"Your books, Ponyboy," she repeats, tapping with her finger. "Did you walk into my classroom with no books?"

xXx

I have to hand Darry the slip of paper, and he looks at it, straightening up in his chair.

"What is this?" He reads it, looks up at me, confused. "Why do I have to pay for a new math book?"

"Um. I lost it."

"You lost it?"

Nodding, I look down. Biting my lip.

"You know about our money situation."

"I know."

"Have you looked for it?"

I have. In my bag. In my locker. In school, everywhere I can think of. But it's gone, along with my notebook. I don't remember where I put them.

Darry stares at the slip again. "This is really bad timing. We have enough with the bills."

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to."

In his eyes, something shifts. I realize what words I just used. But maybe it's a good thing his jaw tightens, the way he looks away from me, because I know he remembers too. I know he won't yell.

_I didn't mean to. I didn't think! I forgot!_

_You don't yell at him!  
_

He won't repeat things.

"Okay," he says instead, forcing it out. "Okay."

xXx

The books are one thing, but my shoes are another. I have P.E at the end of the day, and because of my head, I am allowed to skip. I kick off my shoes and help my teacher take time when they run, from one wall to another, until the final bell rings.

And then I go home.

xXx

"And where are your shoes?"

I have a lump in my throat, but I manage to talk around it. "I don't know!"

"It's October, Pony! You're telling me you managed to walk the whole way home just in your socks without even notice?"

Silently, I nod.

Darry seems like he doesn't know what to do with this. His eyes are both worried and angry. So he just sits down in the recliner, head in his hands, and I continue to look at my feet, barefoot now. I had to put my socks in the trash.

I didn't realize my shoes were missing until the car stopped next to me on my way home. Until Steve leaned out of his open window, asking if I hadn't forgotten something. At first I thought he meant the ride home with him and Two-Bit, but they both had detention. I was supposed to walk.

"Dar?" Soda says from his spot on the living room floor. He's still dressed in work clothes, just stepped inside. "I can go."

Darry searches in his pocket, and throws the truck keys to Soda. He catches them with one hand, gives me a little smile and walk out.

I am still sitting in our couch, embarrassingly red, when he shows up again, one hour later, with Two-Bit and Steve in tow.

"We looked everywhere. We couldn't find them," he says.

Two-Bit eyes me, amused of the whole thing. I guess I will hear about this for a long time.

"I can't believe it!" Darry mutters.

"How 'bout my old ones?" Soda asks, opening the closet in the hallway, staring at the mess. "They should be in here... somewhere."

Darry pinches the bridge of his nose. "No." Shakes his head. "I'll buy him new ones."

xXx

I get my first blow from a Soc since it happened. I know it was just a matter of time. I know they have waited for this, when they corner me in History, pasted smiles on angry faces. I'm the only greaser in class so no one else really cares. I don't even try to look around for help. Instead, I lock my gaze in theirs. I'm not afraid, I try to tell with it.

But I am. My heart pounds so fast I think it will jump out of my chest. My mouth is dry. I'm glad to be in the classroom, they won't dare to do too much. I hope.

The first touch is just lightly, two fingers on my shoulder, but I cringe and shrink back.

"It would've been you," he snarls. His hair is short. His shirt red. "Filthy greaser!"

I hadn't been able to take any of them down one to one, and they are three. The tallest one has his eyes fixed on the door, the teacher is not here yet.

"I heard you got a bath," the talker continues. "Didn't wash the grease away, did it?"

_You need a bath, greaser, and we have all night_

He knocks my books from my hands.

"Heard about your friends, too."

I press my lips together, stay quiet. I won't talk about Johnny and Dally with them.

"What, can't even speak? What are you doin' in this class anyway? Shouldn't you be in auto mechanics or something?"

They all laugh. I wonder how they can do that. They lost a friend too, didn't they? I can't laugh.

"Maybe we should teach you to answer, hm?"

_You need a good working over, kid  
_

My throat clamps up. Please don't. I take another step back, but they take one forward, and I have a desk behind me.

He grabs my shirt in the front, and when I put up both hands to push him, he punches me. Right in the face.

* * *

_Thanks for reading. I hope you enjoy :)_


	4. 4

**Silence Speaks a Million Words**

**4.**

The floor is cold and dirty yellow. The left side of my mouth, my cheek and nose is a throbbing pain. I hold myself up by my hands, staring at the small drops of red that land between them.

The room is quiet, until someone hisses, "_Shit_!" and feet and chairs move. I think I can hear a door open over the sudden noise. I should probably move too, but I can't bring myself to it. I don't know why I feel so dazed.

"What's going on here?"

It's my teacher. I manage to glance up at her. She stands in the aisle, not far away from my place on the floor. Her eyes widen slightly when she notices it's me lying here. Since I got back to school, she has acted weird, like she's scared of me. Today seems to not be an exception.

She takes a step back, looking around. Her gaze falls on one of the Socs, who stands awkwardly near. He probably wasn't fast enough to move to his desk when she came through the door.

"Seth?" she says, her tone questioning.

"I - I think he fell, Mrs. Conway." He smirks at me.

It's so obvious a lie, but I know she will pretend to fall for it. She doesn't like greasers in her class.

"Oh. Well. Can you please... take him to the nurse?"

He stares at her. Then he leans down, grabs my arm, and I stumble to my feet with the help of his unwilling support. He's not the one who hit me, but it's bad enough.

He drags me out in the hallway, and around the corner, he pushes me down to sit on a bench.

"Like I would help you." He gives me a disgusted look and back away.

I watch him go. I guess I should be glad he didn't slug me too.

My mouth tastes metallic. I lean back, rest my head against the bricks in the wall and sigh. Maybe I should go to the nurse, but I don't want to. Instead, I carefully touch my face with my hand. It feels okay. I won't add another hospital bill to the stack.

I sit down for a few minutes more, and then rise to find a restroom. I think I should clean up and go back, I can't risk to lose my History book too, but somehow my hand won't move to turn on the tap. I stare at the sink. I manage to brush my teeth every day, wash myself every morning, but the Soc's hands gripping my shirt is still fresh in my head. I can almost feel how I'm pushed down in the fountain. How I can't breathe.

It's ridiculous.

Determined, I force my hand to move, and I turn on the cold water, try to supress a shiver while I grip a paper towel from the wall. It's my lip that's bleeding, and I will have a bruise, but I have seen worse.

xXx

Two-Bit gawks.

"Just tell me who did it," he demands, but I shake my head, fumble with the lighter. I hate fire, but I need it to smoke. I hate smoke too, but I need my cigarettes.

"Your brothers won't be too happy."

I know that.

"Wasn't _my_ fault," I mutter.

Damn lighter. It's trembling. It won't work.

Two-Bit's hand curls around mine, and the lighter disappears from it. He flicks out a flame in front of my face. I stare at the colors, red and orange, yellow and white

_Johnny screams  
_

_I turn around to help him but  
_

My cigarette drops from my open mouth.

"Geez, Pone." The flame is gone as Two-Bit bends down to pick up my weed for me. When I get it back, it's already lit.

"Wake up, kid." He snaps with his fingers an inch from my eyes. I push his hand away.

"I'm awake."

We stand behind the school, against the wall to the gym building, waiting for Steve I guess. I glance at Two-Bit, just about to light up his own cigarette. When he's done, he frowns down at the lighter in his palm. Like he just saw it. He looks at me, his eyes so readable. He knows it's Dally's.

"You can keep it," I hear myself say.

He looks older when he nods shortly and pockets it. I'm not used to see him this serious, it's like something is wrong in the picture. Why can't he just smile? We can pretend everything's fine.

"Look at that!" Steve says as he approaches us, stops close to watch my face. I move away from him.

"Socs?" It's not really a question.

"Yeah."

When our break is over we walk back into school. They follow me to my classroom before we split up. Steve walks a few steps backwards in the hallway, points at me.

"Try to stay away from the Socs. Not that I care if you gettin' more trouble, Soda will kill me anyway."

xXx

Soda is home first, and he drags me to the couch after one look at my face.

"It ain't that bad," I say to him when he pushes me down to sit. "It doesn't even hurt if you don't touch it."

He's angry.

"Doesn't matter. Shit," he curses. "Your head was just healed up. You feel dizzy?"

"No."

"Teeth in place?"

"Yeah."

"Who was it?"

"Don't know his name."

He looks doubtful. "C'mon, Pone."

"It's true."

"Fine. They say somethin'?"

_It would've been you_

"No."

"Then where the hell were Steve and Two-Bit?" He sounds frustrated.

I close my eyes as he presses his fingertips lightly against my cheek. I try not to flinch.

"It happened in class."

xXx

Darry repeats Soda's questions two hours later. I repeat the same answers.

"I should call your principal," he says, hovering over pans on the stove. I sit by the table, doing my homework. Trying to. Words won't stick in my head, all math problems is just a blur. "Where was the damn teacher?"

"There's no point, Darry."

"It ain't okay, Pone! It never is, but you should at least be safe in class!"

He slams the cupboards. He has never been like this before. We have all had out meetings with Socs, I don't know why this time is different.

"Jesus," he says, throws a wooden spoon on the counter, slumping his shouders. Even with his back turned against me, I can tell what his expression looks like. Mad. Dejected. We beat the Socs in the rumble, but we can never _beat_ them. They will always have the upper hand.

Especially when they're right.

_It should've been you_

It should have been me. I know that. It shouldn't have been Johnny. I remember Two-Bit's words.

_I wish it had been any of us except Johnny  
_

He probably didn't mean it that way, but I know it only leaves_ me_. I was the one who was there. It should have been me. In the fountain. If I had died in the fountain, I think Johnny and Dally would be alive. Or if Johnny didn't pushed me out first from the church. I could have pushed him. Let him get out first. I should have stayed, taking the balk and burns. Everyone knows that one dead is better than two. Dally died because Johnny died, but no one else would have died if it had been me. It was me surviving who killed them. I was selfish.

"Pony? I need to set the table."

But I have my brothers. They don't want me dead. And I don't wanna die. I am even younger than Johnny. He told me he was just sixteen, but I am two years younger than that. It's not really fair.

"Pony?"

Darry stands with plates in his hands.

I collect my things and rise. On the way out, I hit the doorpost with my shoulder, and my things tumble down. My brother turns around at the sound.

"What happened?"

I rub my sore spot. "Nothin'." Sighing, I sink down to my knees, gather my books and pen.

xXx

I need a shower, but I'm scared. I stand in the doorway to the bathroom, knowing a quick wash-up in the sink won't work any longer. Sighing, I take a step back, bumping into someone.

"Sorry."

Soda watches me curiously. I don't know what to say.

"You done in there?" He smiles a little.

I nod, and he walks past me, steps inside. When he's done, he finds me leaning against the wall behind the door.

"What's the matter, Pone?"

I still can't find the words. I shrug, staring down.

"School starts in an hour. Hey?" He tilts my head up with his hand under my chin. "You gonna take a shower?"

"Yeah."

"Careful this time, 'kay?"

I should nod and go, I know. But it's like I can't move. Soda's face changes, a frown appearing.

"Pony-"

"I slipped," I whisper. "I..."

I wonder if he understands it's the fountain. The water. I know they know about it, what happened. Why Bob died that night. Why I didn't.

And maybe I didn't but I still feel their hands. I still hear their laughter. They kill me almost every night. I don't want it to happen during the day again.

Gentle Soda takes my arm, steers me inside the bathroom, and when I stand in the middle of the floor, he sits down on the toilet lid.

"I can stay, okay?" he says, and I think he knows.

xXx

I keep forgetting things. But my books and shoes are not the worst. It's what Darry says.

"So what about Saturday?" he asks me. I absent-mindedly drag my gaze away from the TV to look at him.

"What?"

"Saturday," he repeats. "I took the day off, I was plannin' we could do something."

I raise my eyebrows. "Okay." I go back to my TV-show. I'm not actually watching it but it distracts my mind.

"So what do you wanna do? What do you think Soda wanna do? We don't have that much money to spend, though."

Shrugging, I say, "I don't know."

I hear my brother sigh. "Could you be a little more entusiatic? I figured we should decide before Soda gets home."

"Why don't you wait and ask him instead?"

"Well, for starters, I don't want him to plan for his own birthday."

"What?" My head snaps back at him. My mouth falls open. "Soda's birthday?"

"It's October 8 on Saturday."

I almost feel devastated. I should have known. I know what month it is. I keep track on the weekdays, I know it's Thursday today. I think.

"I - I didn't forgot, Dar. I just didn't know what date it is today!"

He looks at me funny. "It's okay, kiddo."

But it's not okay. Not for me. I shake my head so slowly Darry can't notice it. I dig my nails into my palms, hard.

"So?" he says. "What do you think?"

xXx

I have to smoke, I don't even remember when I had one. I don't have a lighter. I look in the kitchen for matches, but I don't find any. I search through Soda's things, but he smokes so rarly I don't even know if he owns one. He probably gets fire from Steve when needed.

I wish I could stop thinking of fire and water. That it didn't scare me so much. It's like it gets worse with each passing day. Sometimes I think that I wake up in oceans or smoky rooms, and everytime I scream. But I'm always in bed, with Soda next to me.

I am just looking between the cushions in the couch when Two-Bit sticks in his head.

"What's up, Pone?"

I look up at him, put the cushion I am holding back into place. Then I walk and step out through our door, dragging Two-Bit along.

"Gimme a cigarette."

If he notices my hand is trembling when he gives it to me, he doesn't say anything.

* * *

_Thanks for reading. I hope you want to review too :)_


	5. 5

**Silence Speaks a Million Words**

**5.**

We stay at home on Soda's birthday. Darry has made him a cake. We have bought him a pair of jeans from a thrift store. I feel bad for it, that we couldn't afford anything else, even if he needs them. Soda's smile is big, as always happy with life, but I stare down at my shoes. The new ones. It is my fault we can't give him a greater gift.

Two-Bit and Steve are here but the room feels empty. We play the radio loud; Elvis and Johnny Cash and The Rolling Stones blast through the speakers, but the music doesn't serves its purpose. It can't cover what is missing. _Who_ is missing. Birthdays has always been hard since Mom and Dad died, but I never thought they could be worse. Apparently, they could be, and I really wish this day would be over soon. A pang of guilt follows with the thought. I am a lousy brother.

In the kitchen, Darry lights the candles. There are seventeen of them, thin and blue, stuck down into the chocolate icing. When he carries out the cake, the flickering flames light up his face. He smiles, and we sing, but I'm not sure I do.

Johnny smiled in the church. When all we knew was the heat, the smoke and fire and the screaming kids, he _smiled_, and he had fun. He enjoyed himself. He was so alive then, finally becoming the boy he was always meant to be. Seconds before it all crashed down and took that boy away again. I wonder if he somehow knew what would happen, and chose to shine just before the end.

It is weird when I think about it. Dally made the opposite - he was dead his last hour in life. It wasn't really the bullets that killed him, he had already died when Johnny died. He didn't shine when he left that hospital room. He was broken.

Darry puts the cake down on the table in front of Soda. I watch the flames with worry, but my brother's eyes are joyful.

He blows out the candles in one go, and Two-Bit raises his beer and cheers. Steve claps Soda's shoulder. Darry hands him the cake slice. I stare at the smoke which winds from the wick.

_Like a candle with its flames gone  
_

Those were my thoughts when Johnny took his last breath.

"Pony?"

I rise my head. They all look at me.

"You all right?" Soda says, and I have to nod.

It's his birthday.

xXx

I have a new lighter. Two-Bit gave it to me, tired of having to light my cigarettes for me I guess. He snatched it from the corner shop close to school and handed it to me just outside the door. I couldn't say no.

I have only smoked with him for a while, and I notice the lack of nicotine in my body. When he's not around, I don't smoke at all. Sometimes it makes me feel like I want to climb the walls.

I sit on our porch, with a cigarette between my lips and the lighter in my hand, and I stare at it.

I don't know if I can do it.

I hold fire in my hand.

But my lungs ache to be destroyed, my blood wants it, my head hurts, demanding me.

_Just do it_, I tell myself, and then I do it. The flare flickers close to my thumb and my hand shakes so much that I drop the lighter. I pick it up and try again. This time I manage.

I force myself to play with the lighter, light it on and off, on and off, on and off until my hand is more steady but my heart doesn't slow down a bit.

xXx

I hate that I worry my brothers when I don't eat, and when I sometimes don't answer them when they try to talk to me. I'm so lost in my thoughts. It happens more often now, my mind is so distracted most of the time. I don't mean to, but I can't stop thinking of bad things. It's like my good thoughts slip away when I try to grab hold of them, and only the bad is still in there, inside my head, haunting me.

I dream of water and fire and loss during the nights.

I start to think of everything that can happen during the days.

I think of armed robberys at the DX, at wrongly thrown cigarettes too close to the gas pumps, jack-screws that breaks, making the cars fall down and crush the boys underneath them. I think of slippery roofs and ladders. I think of high falls and bodies hitting hard concrete. I think of thunder and lightning strikes. I think of car crashes. Knives and heaters and hate and rumbles. Alcohol poisoning. I see every possible way of dying. It's not only fire and water- danger is suddenly everywhere. I go to school, wondering if we're going to lose anyone else today and who it will be. I fall asleep at night, relieved that we all made it through the day. _This_ day. The mornings are still angst, because then it all just starts over again.

I don't know what to do. It feels like I want to cry all the time when the thoughts take over, and sometimes I do. But it only makes me feel worse in the end. I'm such a bawl baby.

Luckily, no one has noticed it yet. Mostly it happens after school, before Soda and Darry get home from work, when I still wonder if they even gonna show up or will get killed along the way, or maybe are already dead or hurt. I sit by the phone, waiting for the call telling me to rush to the hospital. I unplug it sometimes, and then I regret it, sticking the contact back into the wall with a rushing heart.

Sometimes Two-Bit stays after school with me, entering the door with me, happy and talking, and then I can't cry. Then it builds up within me, until it feels I'm going to explode. Then I dig my nails down into my palms so hard it feels I'm going to drain blood.

Sometimes I cry at night when Soda is asleep. I just have to be quiet, but that's easy. Usually I lie on my back and stare up into the dark, letting the tears run free without sobbing. But it doesn't feel better.

I'm not a tough greaser. I'm nothing.

xXx

A week after Soda's birthday, I have one of the worst nights.

I dream of water, but it's Johnny who pushes me down into it. I get up, but his eyes glare as he pushes me back again. I almost don't recognize his face.

I ask him why.

He tells me he wants to live.

It's getting harder to get up by each time. My clothes are soaked and heavy. And then the other hands come. They are not from above, not pushing - they are from underneath, and they grab me.

I shout at Johnny to help me, but he just stands there. The expression in his face is the same he had after he killed Bob; pale and shocked.

I'm going under. I see the surface, high above me. I can't reach it. I can't breathe. But I still see Johnny. He stands there, watching me as I struggle.

The fire comes so fast. He's burning - opening his mouth and screaming, but there is no sound. I can't do anything. My lungs burn too.

It's too late to save us.

xXx

"Darry," I say one day at the breakfast table, tearing my sandwich into small pieces with my fingers. My heart beats faster than ever. "Um... how many guys have been hurt at your work?"

I don't dare to say killed, but that is what I want to know. His eyebrows shoot up.

"Why?" he wonders and I try to shrug.

"Just thinkin'."

I wish I wasn't so readable. His expression changes.

"I won't get hurt, Pone," he says seriously, forcing me to meet his gaze.

"But how many?" I persist. "What if someone falls off the roof? Has it happened? It can happen, right?"

"No one will fall off the roof. The worse that has ever happened was when Ray hit his thumb with the hammer." He tries to chuckle and lighten up my mood.

"Yeah, but-"

"There ain't no but's. I always think of safety, okay? I have a nice boss, he knows to take care of his guys. Now eat your... uh, sandwich."

I know they have tried not to nag about me eating, because for a while, they haven't said anything about it. Maybe they think it will be better if they don't say anything. So now I groan inwards, looking down at the small pieces I have created on my plate.

I know I have to eat them. Try to eat at least half of them. My jeans are too loose on my waist.

And I don't know why, but I start to think that maybe, if I eat them all, maybe Darry's words will be true. If I do something good, something he wants me to do, maybe I can have what I want. That would be fair. I know it's not very rational, but I feel almost desperate. I don't know what I'll do if something happens to my brothers.

I eat slowly, and sometimes it feels like I'm going to choke on them. Soda comes too, sitting down with eggs and bacon, and I can feel how they try not to watch me as I struggle.

But I manage. When I swallow the last piece, they don't even try to hide their smiles.

xXx

Two-Bit and Steve leave me outside my classroom just when the last bell rings. I walk inside, taking my empty spot.

I try hard to listen to my teacher, but all I can think of is my brothers, wondering if they are safe, and I'm cursing myself when thinking of Soda. What if something happens to him? I will never forgive myself.

I feel anxious and jittery all day. I think there's a fire at the DX. I think that Soda stands by the gas pumps as some guy's brakes break, making the car slam into my brother. I have all those horrible pictures in my head and I can't get rid of them.

At lunch, I grab Steve's sleeve, and he scowls at me.

"I have to go to Soda!"

"Shit, kid!" He jerks his arm free from my grip. "Take it easy."

"Soda!" I urge. "You have to drive me to him, Steve!"

He rolls his eyes, but nods with his head towards the parking lot, and we go there. I almost run.

"What's with the hurry?" Two-Bit wonders when we are inside the car, but I just shake my head in the back seat. I just want to see Soda.

xXx

He stands behind the counter, with his DX-cap turned backwards and his elbows on the plain top in front of him.

"You okay?" is the first I say.

He leans forward to ruffle my hair. "Sure, kid. I'm just fine. Why?"

"Nothin'." Relieved now, I feel a little silly. I stand awkwardly by the side as Two-Bit and Steve and my brother chat. He's okay. Of course he's okay.

I take a Pepsi from the fridge and sip at it.

xXx

On the way back to school, the pictures and thoughts return. I turn my head to look back, but the DX is not in sight anymore.

What if something happened just after we left?

I turn around again, but we are even farther away now. I tap my fingers nervously against my knee. Peek backwards a third time.

"What's wrong?" Steve's eyes meet mine in the rearview mirror. But I can't talk. The words are stuck in my throat.

Please let Soda be okay._ Please, please, please_. I close my eyes. I'll do anything if Soda just will be all right.

* * *

_Thanks for reading, sorry for late update!_


	6. 6

**Silence Speaks a Million Words**

**6.**

I think of Dally's words of wisdom, how he told me them just as he failed to follow them himself. He wasn't so tough he couldn't feel a thing. It become the opposite; he felt so much it killed him. It makes me wonder if it's possible I'm also feeling too much. It's like the things I feel is not just inside me anymore, they are on the outside too, written on my face, burning on my skin. And I'm scared.

I don't make sense.

I remember the time I was bumped up a grade and they did some tests to count my IQ and they told my parents I have a very good brain. I don't know anymore. It just keeps giving me these thoughts even though I don't want them, and I can't get rid of them. I think my brothers has start to notice because they always ask if I'm okay. But I lie all the time.

If I should tell the truth, they would lock me up into a nut house, I'm sure. Green lights has nothing to do with who stays alive and who does not, and still I think they can help me. If at least one of the three stop lights on the way to school is green, I think we will all made it through the day. It is ridiculous, really, but I can't stop believing it. I think I need it to calm me down.

I wish that had been the only thing because I can live with that. It's harder with the forbidden words. I can't think _die _because then I have to think _live_ but the word die keeps sneaking inside and haunt me and I think _live live live_ but it doesn't help, and then I'm sure Darry or Soda will die because I can't stop thinking of it.

I want to smash my head into a wall but I don't. I tried once. I went into my room and sat on my bed and the thoughts just swept over me like a giant wave, and I smacked the back of my head into my wall three times and it hurt.

I don't make sense and it scares me so much. I don't want to lose it. I just want to be like I used to be.

xXx

"Where's Soda?" I ask Darry. I accidentally fell asleep after school because I sleep so bad at night, and when I woke up just now, Darry is here but Soda is not. I try hard to stifle my panic - I clutch my arms so tight around my body, dig my nails so hard into my sides it hurts. "Darry, I can't find Soda."

The clock on the wall says it's seven and I know he told me he would be home at six. Why is he not here? A little voice in me tells me Darry would have told me if something had happened, but I can't believe that little voice. Soda might be dead and it's my fault. I did something wrong today but what did I do? I think frantically, I must have done something, thought something I shouldn't have and now Soda is-

"He's out with Steve."

"What?"

"He's out with Steve."

I feel so cold. "He didn't tell me."

Darry snickers, _how can he do that? _and lowers the paint brush. "You were sound asleep, Pone."

Darry is happy. It must mean Soda is okay, or else he would be sad. I know that.

"When's he gettin' home?"

"Probably not until midnight."

I stare. Midnight. It's five hours to midnight.

"Want to help me?" Darry wonders and nods at the bucket at his feet. "Got some free paint buckets at work."

"Why?"

"Why? The house I'm workin' on is getting renovated on the inside too, and the painters got this over."

"No, why is he not home until midnight?"

Darry's grey t-shirt is stained with white. I look at the kitchen wall.

"It's Friday night, Ponyboy. Soda hasn't been out for a while you know." He bends down and picks up a brush, holds it out for me.

"Want to help me?" he repeats.

I hesitate some seconds, then I unfold my arms and take it.

xXx

An hour later Darry goes and washes his hands and makes us something to eat. I sit on the floor, slowly stroking the wall with my brush, trying to calm my racing heart. There is still no one knocking on our door. Still no phone call. The hands on the clock move with a ticking sound. Four hours to go.

"Pone? It's finished."

I put down the brush and head to the bathroom. Water on my hands. I hold my breath, the words _die live die live die live _in my head and I shake it to get rid of them. Before the paint is off I put the heels of my hands into my eyes.

Stop it! _Stop it_!

Soda is okay.

He has been for seventeen years.

But Dally was too and Johnny and Bob and my parents - no one knew they were going to die the day they did. No one knew. No one stopped it.

No one could have stopped it and if something happens to Soda I'm not there to stop it either.

I drop my hands and stare at my face in the mirror. If Soda comes home tonight I promise, I _promise_ to... I promise to eat and do my homework and not fight my brothers ever again. I can promise everything.

I sniff. I wasn't aware of that I am crying and I wipe my eyes with my bare arms.

xXx

I am already in bed when I hear the front door open and voices that are trying to be hushed, but aren't, flow through the house.

"Shut up, Steve," Soda laughs, and I sit up and throw my covers away.

They sit in the living room and they both look up when I come.

"Sorry, Pone, did we wake you up?" my brother smiles and I just want to hit him or hug him. I clench my fists and glare at him.

"Were where you, Soda?"

His face goes solemn and a frown appears on his forehead. "You all right, Pone?"

They always ask me that, always.

"I'm fine. You could at least have _told _me!" I complain. I stare at him but I can see Steve shaking his head in annoyance. He rips a new packet of kool's open and puts one of the sticks between his lips.

"I'm sorry," Soda says. "C'mon, sit down."

I take Darry's receiver and I fold my arms in front of me. "You can't just do things like that, Soda," I tell him.

Steve curses. "Geez, kid, you ain't his dad."

"Steve," Soda sighs, and then he turns to me. "Go to bed, will ya, Ponyboy? I'll be there in a minute."

I don't move. I watch as Steve lights up, the little flame in our dark living room, and he snaps fast with the match in the air until it has died down. He put it in the ash tray on the table.

Soda rises and grabs my wrist. "See you in the mornin' Steve," he says, but all he got for an answer is a grunt.

xXx

My brother falls asleep fast but I think of fire. I wonder how quickly our hose would burn down if Steve falls asleep with his cigarette lit. It will start in the couch and the flames will rise and lick the walls and ceiling within minutes, thick dark smoke will fill the hallway _and Johnny will scream at me and push me out the window but everyone else will remain inside and-_

I wake up from the dream with a jerk. Blinking at the dark in the room, I don't see any orange light, don't smell any smoke, but I have to make sure.

I crawl out of bed, carefully, and sneak out of the room and down the hall. Steve's snoring in the couch, and there's no ember in the ash tray. I stare at it for a couple of minutes.

I walk back to my room, but before I open the door, I start do doubt what I saw. I go back. Five times back and forth, and then I force myself to not go back anymore. I can't keep staring at the ash tray all night.

I take my place in bed next to Soda and close my eyes, resisting the urge to go up again.

xXx

The phone rings. I sit in the couch with my knees dragged up to my chest, trying not to think at all, but I fail with it. I feel warm and cold at the same time, and my homework lies done on the coffee table. I know what I have promised, but apparently, it was not enough.

I stare at the phone, knowing this is it. It has happened, and the air gets stuck in my throat.

I can't.

It's not -

I don't want this.

The signal dies but takes up a minute later. I try to move, I really do. But I don't want to hear what they has to say, because as long as they haven't said it, I can pretend it's not true. It won't be true until I know.

The phone rings a third time and I know I have to answer. Standing up on shaky legs, I walk slowly.

"H - hello?"

"_Ponyboy? Were where you?_" Darry's voice reaches me from the other line. There are noises in the background.

"I... um..."

Silently I take the scolding for not picking up, but I can hear he's mostly worried. He's not angry. He tells me Soda is working late but I already knew that. He tells me something came up, he needs to work overtime.

I tell him it's okay, but it's not. I want them both home, but now I will be alone until ten.

We say our goodbyes and hang up and I walk to the kitchen and open the fridge. Two-Bit has left four beer bottles and I take them, and I go to my room.

I only want to kill the thoughts and the pain. That's all I want to do, I swear. I know what I have heard about alcohol, how it drains your sorrows and makes everything feel better. How it makes you brave. How it makes you just not care. I open one and take a gulp and the drink is bitter down my throat. I wonder how anyone can even like this, but I force myself to take one more, and one more.

I drink the rest in one go, burp as I put it down, gagging on the taste.

The second one goes better.

My head feels buzzy, dizzy, but not enough. This is not forgetting, this is making things worse. So I open the third one and down it too.

"Shit," I say as the room is spinning. I pinch my arm, and it feels like someone elses arm and someone elses fingers. My skin is numb.

I drink the fourth one sitting on my bed, leaning against the wall, and then I laugh, or maybe I am crying, I can't really tell.

"You are a screw up," I whisper to myself, no one else is here to listen. Then I add, "And you're _drunk_." I lift up my hands and drag at my bleached hair until it hurts. My face feels damp under my fingertips. Is it tears?

I pick up my lighter and light it - the flame dances in front of my eyes.

Fire, fire, fire.

Why am I so scared of fire? I wasn't scared when I first heard the kids. Then all I could think of was getting them out, that it was our fault. It was our fault. I wasn't scared inside it, it was hell, but I wasn't scared. Johnny wasn't scared until the end, when he got hurt, and he was only scared of dying. Sad about it.

I know my back was on fire but Dally's jacket saved me. I wonder what it must have felt for Johnny. When he was burnt. I don't know what it feels like. I shouldn't be scared of something I don't know what it feels like.

The walls creep closer. I imagine them burning like the old church, I am there and this time I won't be a coward. I will face it like Johnny did, I will get so tough nothing, _nothing_ can hurt me, not fists, no water, no fire, and I stick my arm into the flame, feel it against my skin, burning, burning and I gasp and drop the lighter, cradle my arm close as my eyes sting.

Shit. Nausea hits me and I wobble to the toilet and throw up.

* * *

_Sorry you had to wait again. I don't think I can promise regular updates, but I can promise I won't ditch the story. Please review and please knock me in the head with the book if you think I go too OOC because that worries me a bit._


	7. 7

**Silence Speaks a Million Words**

**7.**

I just have to tell myself to breathe. I'm not dying. I'm not. Even if it feels like it. Even if parts of me wants it, the part that is dizzy and nauseous and feels awful.

Nothing stays in their places - the toilet, the sink, the window, the shower, it all dances in front of my eyes when I look up. I'm sweating. My arm hurts. I breathe in through my nose and out through my mouth. I manage to stand, holding onto the wall, even if all I want to do is let myself drop to the floor again, crawl into a fetus position, forget the world, and just sleep. Get away.

I can't.

My brothers will be home soon and they can't find me like this. Somewhere in the dizziness that used to be my mind I know that.

My mouth is so dry. I have hurled and spit for an hour, ignoring the throbbing pain, not wanting to see it, but now I move my gaze, trying to focus on the place on my arm, just between my wrist and elbow.

Angry red and white and black. Bubbly. It smells. It stings, it doesn't look good. I take three steps up to the sink and turn on the water. Ice cold. It's funny- in the strange way, not the happy way- that water will help me now. I think it will help me but it doesn't. When I remove my arm, the mark is still there. It won't go away.

I force myself to wash my face too, and I take my toothbrush mug so I can drink some.

I just want my bed.

Somehow I end up in my room again and I know I have to hide what I did. The bottles go into the trash can, under the thrown away pictures I used to do, and my arm is hidden inside a long sleeved shirt. I crawl under the covers and close my eyes.

xXx

"Pone! Wake up! C'mon..."

Someone touches my shoulder and I force my eyes open. Soda's face is hovering over me.

"I can smell the beer, you know," he informs me. Gentle.

I close my eyelids again. "Go away."

"Like I would do that." He grips my upper arms, makes me sit. I groan. "Feelin' bad?"

I dip my head. "Yeah."

He chuckles softly, but there is only worry in it. "Look at me."

I meet his eyes. "Don't tell Darry," I beg.

I can see him debate with himself. How he suck in his lower lip, and how he tenses before answering.

"Ponyboy..."

"Please Soda."

"Fine... okay."

It's too easy. "You ain't mad?" I manage to say. He sighs.

"I'll go get you some water. And no, I ain't mad, Ponyboy." A hand touches my forehead. Then it's gone, and I lie on my back. Maybe it was just a dream.

xXx

"C'mon, drink some." He forces me to sit again, and holds a glass of water in front of me. I grip it.

"So, first time, huh?" Soda says.

"It ain't funny."

"No." He's quiet for a while. "So... what's goin' on, Pone?"

I take small sips of the water.

"I mean," Soda continues, "this ain't really you."

"You got drunk at thirteen."

"Yeah. On a party with friends, havin' a good time. Not home alone."

"Two-Bit does it alone."

Soda pinches the bridge of his nose. I put the glass on the nightstand, place my hands in my knee. The wound on my arm stings badly, but I don't show it.

"It was his beer," I say, embarrassed.

"Yeah, I figured."

I really hope Two-Bit won't get in trouble for this.

xXx

I should have known Darry would notice. He's aware of what's in the fridge and what is missing. The next morning, when Soda tells him I have a stomach flu, he already knows. He's angry at Soda, but oddly gentle with me. I wait for him to start hollering, but he doesn't. That scares me.

Why doesn't he shout at me? He just stands in the doorway, looking in as I hide under the covers, only my nose and eyes sticking out. Soda peeks in from behind, his face red, but Darry says nothing. He just asks me if I need an aspirin, but Soda has already given me a few.

They both leave and then they continuing their arguing. I wish they didn't. It wasn't Soda, it was me. It feels unfair that Darry blames him. I want to tell them to stop, but I have promised to not fight my brothers.

I get up anyway. I will never drink again, it wasn't worth it. It didn't make things better, it made them worse. It made Darry mad at Soda. It made me do stupid stuff.

Their voices are not high, but I hear them. I stop in the hallway, watching them. Guilt is a pain. My fault, my fault, always my fault no matter what I do. They both look at me.

"Stay home today, Pone," Darry says, still with that soft voice. What is he doing?

"Darry," I say, but then I don't know how to continue.

"It's all right, Pone. We'll talk when you feel better."

Is it even possible to feel better? But I nod, and then I turn around and walk to the bathroom. Inside, I close the door and lock it. Usually we don't - most of the time we don't even bother closing the door. But I can't risk Darry or Soda stepping inside.

In the mirror, my face is pale, and the dark circles under my eyes make me look freakish. My tongue is almost stuck to my palate. I drag the shirt over my head and look at my arm again. I remember Johnny, his skin after the fire, all bandaged up, but in some places you could see what it looked like. My arm doesn't really look the same. It's a big blister on my skin, with black edges. I don't know what to do with it, but I take our first aid-box and find a band-aid to cover it. That will have to do.

xXx

They both leave for work and I am home alone again. But not for long; the front door opens and Two-Bit steps inside with a grin. I drag my legs up and put my forehead on my knees. He knows.

xXx

I feel so bad. Two-Bit tries to nurse me, but he only makes me feel worse with all his stories of hangovers and parties and beers. I can't eat and that worries me. I promised to eat. But I just move anxiously between the couch and my bed and the bathroom, feeling so awful I don't even know if I care. My arm takes me off of things too. I don't know why I did it. In the bathroom, I rip off the band-aid to look at it again, and somehow it feels right. Why should I be unscathed? Johnny killed Bob because of me, and then he died too because of me, and Dally died because I didn't say anything when Johnny died. I just let him run. I let him be alone even though I saw how he broke down. I saw it, and I didn't do anything.

But now I do things to keep everyone safe. I have to.

"Pone, you all right in there?"

I nod, then realize he can't see it. "Yeah."

I take on my shirt and drag down my sleeves and open the door.

"Hey, I was thinkin', maybe next time-"

Groaning, I push myself past him. "There won't be a next time."

"There won't?"

"Why are you here? Shouldn't you be in school?" I turn around and his face shows the answer. I sigh. Of course my brothers asked him to come - they don't trust me.

"Thought you needed some company after the great experience."

xXx

He falls asleep on the couch and I'm sitting on the recliner playing with fire. I shouldn't. I suck on my cigarette and flicker with my lighter and think of burns and burning - how all the little kids made it and I, but Johnny died and Dally hurt his arm.

Like me.

Not like me at all. His arm was all bandaged up. I wonder if he hated me. Did he wish it was me instead of Johnny too? But he was glad he didn't kill me. He told me that.

_I thought I broke your neck. I'm glad I didn't._

I put the lighter on the coffee table. Two-Bit snores with an open mouth. I crawl into a ball and close my eyes.

xXx

The scolding from Darry finally comes in the evening. Not that I like it when he's mad at me, but at least it's familiar.

"Feelin' better?" he asks me, coming inside my room. I sit up.

"A little."

He sits down next to me on my bed. "Did you know Dad always waited to the evening after before he told us how stupid we were?" he says, without looking at me.

"No," I mumble.

"Well, he did. One time I came home two hours after curfew, so drunk I couldn't stand up. Dad helped me to bed, put the covers over me and told me to sleep. I really thought I got away with it." He shakes his head. "The next day he grounded me for a month."

"Oh."

"Yeah. _Oh._ But I guess grounding you won't help since you hardly leave the house nowadays, so I'm putting you on cleanin' duty. And you have to make dinner every day for two weeks." He sighs, and then it comes. "Pony, what the hell were you thinkin'?"

But I can't tell him. He wouldn't understand.

xXx

I dream of water that night. The water is on fire, and on the boat is Soda and Darry. I stand on the shore, screaming at them to come, to come... they will die out there. But they do nothing.

The water is the fountain, and then suddenly they stand there, staring at me. I'm under water, but I'm breathing. I breathe under water.

xXx

I go there. To the park. I cross the street, the grass, and stop on the pavement. The blood is gone - I wonder if it was the rain, or if someone washed it away, and my heart thuds so hard it causes a buzz in my head. I raise my gaze and see it. The fountain.

I remember the hands that grabbed me and forced me down, held me under. I think of my dream, but it wasn't true. No one can breathe water. I tried it then, sucked in water into my lungs, and I coughed and vomited it up again. I remember that moment, when I realized I was still alive, when I realized another boy was not.

It was the first time I was close to death. I take a step forward, looking at the ice on the surface. The water under it is dark, almost black. Suddenly I'm glad that I didn't die that night, that it was Bob instead of me. Maybe that was supposed to happen, I was the one who should walk away alive. Because I did.

I reach out my hand. The ice is cold under my palm, and I knock it carefully. It's thin - it cracks, and water swirls up. Taking a deep breath, I force my hand down, down in the cold. I know what it's like to be drowning.

* * *

_Thanks for reading :)  
_

_Please review._


	8. 8

**Silence Speaks a Million Words**

**8.**

Red light.

Red light.

One left. Just one, and it has to be green. I breathe. This has become a routine. It has always been the same, with the green lights. They used to be green. But I knew it would happen some day, when they were not, and this is the day. Steve hits the brakes and makes the car stop. The last red light flashes in front of my eyes.

And I can't breathe. Can't think. It is too late to turn back now.

I know, somewhere, that my thoughts are silly, that I am silly, that I didn't eat when I had a hangover and that was okay. Nothing happened then. Nothing will happen now, but it will, because I thought it would. I know it will happen. And I don't know what to do.

Steve says something and Two-Bit answers. For them, the day is normal. Wednesday, school day. My bag is filled with books and homework. I bite my lip, I think

_If Soda dies, I'll die too_

xXx

I go through the day feeling nauseous and scared, waiting for someone to come and get me, to take me to the principal's office where someone else will wait and tell me the bad news. I go through the day without doing any work. I go through the day thinking about everything, nothing, and I feel empty. But I don't panic. Now when it has happened, the day is just oddly numb. Unreal. I can't stop it from happening and it hurts. I'm going to lose everything and everyone. I can't control it, so I don't even try anymore.

xXx

He is his usual happy self behind the counter. I walk in, and there he is, smiling and alive. But for how long? I can't talk. Everytime I open my mouth, the words I want to say stick. I want to tell him about the lights, but I don't think he will understand. I want to warn him and I don't want to leave him, but lunch break ends too fast.

The rest of the day is a blur. I ditch some classes, not able to go there. Instead I hide in one of the restrooms, sitting on the toilet lid in a stall, leaning my head against the cold tiles. Trying not to think. But thinking is all I can do these days. Thoughts take over and make me disappear. I wish I could find myself again, but I think I am too lost. Maybe it's a good thing. If it happens, when it happens, I can just... go. Let everything inside me take over. Stop fighting it.

On the way home, I sit quiet, ignoring Two-Bit as he tries to talk to me. I don't want to hear anything. It doesn't matter anymore.

I shuffle into my room and drop down onto my bed. I am so tired. I wish I could sleep, but I can't.

A few hours later, Soda drops in into our house, kicking off his shoes and acting so normal. I hear him, bolt up and rush out, staring. He ruffles my hair. He tells jokes and makes dinner and then Darry is suddenly home too, sighing tiredly and asking about our days. I watch them move around and talking, breathing, laughing, living. Nothing happened. Nothing. They came home.

I try to relax but I'm too confused. I have broken my rules twice now and I'm still not punished. Instead, it's almost the opposite, the way Soda smiles and dances around to the radio, trying to make me smile. When I don't, he grimaces. He throws himself down on the couch next to me and tickles me. And somehow, the fog I have been living in seems to lighten up a bit.

xXx

A few days later I find Johnny's letter.

It falls out from the book when I clean my desk, and I pick up the thin paper. It's not Johnny's handwriting - a nurse must have helped him, because the small letters are curved and feminine. I read it, his last words, and they pierce into my heart like a needle, a dagger, a sword - but also, even though my hand shakes violently and my breath comes out unevenly, I know this changes everything. I sit down heavily on my bed.

He was okay with it. He was okay. He thought it was worth it. He had no regrets from the fire. He wanted me to stay alive, to live. He asked me to. To continue being me.

I wonder if I can to it but I know I have to try. I can't do this anymore, this non-life I have. It's his last wish, and I can almost hear his voice in my head.

But he also wanted me to save Dally, and I didn't. I had no time to show him a sunrise. He just ran.

I'm glad Johnny got to see one. I just hope he can forgive me for losing Dally.

xXx

"Why am I alive, Soda?"

"Jesus, Pone!" Soda stands with his hands in the sink, jerking at my sudden voice and dropping a glass. Water splashes over.

"Why didn't I die? Why everybody else but not me?" I mumble. I need to know. There must be a reason. I have thought about it a lot, but I can't find the answer.

Soda holds his face neutral but his eyes betray him. "Why are you askin' me that?"

"I'm thinkin'. It's three times now."

"What?"

"It was the water first. Then the fire. Then the kick in my head. I could've died but I didn't. Why didn't I? 'Cause the others did."

Soda looks nauseous. Slowly he takes the kitchen towel and dries his hands, then he takes my arm and leads me to our bedroom.

"You could have," he agrees with me when we have sat down on the bed.

"But why didn't I?"

He's quiet. He swallows.

"Maybe 'cause we were lucky." His voice is so sad. He sits so close.

"Why wasn't Johnny lucky? Or Dally? Or Mom and Dad? I don't understand."

He rubs his eye. "Sometimes things just happen, Pony. We can't stop them from happenin'."

I don't want to hear that. I need to be able to stop things. I don't want more death's around me.

"But what if we could?"

"But we can't. Pone, if I had known what would happened that night Mom and Dad went out, or the night with you and Johnny in the park, or the night of the rumble, what happened then, you know I would have stopped it. But I didn't know. You didn't know. We couldn't have done anythin'."

"We can't stop it? None of it? We can't stop it from happenin' again?"

"No. And it scares me too, but Pone... you can't stop living 'cause of that. I see you... I mean, I don't see you anymore. I just want my kid brother back, honey." His voice is thick. I close my eyes.

"I did somethin', Soda."

"What do you mean?"

"I don't know why I did it."

"Did what?"

"Somethin' I shouldn't."

He looks scared. "What are you talkin' about, Pony?"

I roll up my sleeve. He grips my hand and turns pale as he examines my arm closely.

"What did you _do_?"

The burn has start to heal but it still looks bad. It will leave a scar, but I think it's more of a reminder. How close it was. How close I was all those times. When Bob and Johnny and Dally died, but not me.

"I had to feel it, Soda. I didn't know what it was like. I know the water, it hurt so bad to not be able to breathe, but I didn't know what fire really felt like. What Johnny felt. But I know now."

"You did it on purpose?"

"I didn't really mean to. " I tug at my arm. "Let go."

I hear him curse. When I look at him, I see that he is crying. "Soda?"

xXx

It takes a long time before he stops. I listen all the time, seeing myself in his words. I didn't know he cried all the time when I was gone. I didn't know about all the time he used to think about leaving the DX, and just run to school to find me. All the times that he still wakes up in the middle of the night, just to see that I'm still there. All the times he almost stops breathing when thinking too much.

He says Darry feels the same. And I suddenly remember how Darry cried at the hospital.

Soda says my biggest fear is their biggest fear too. To lose someone else. To lose me. They know how close I was too, and he says he uses to dream about it. Like me.

He says he went to the fountain and fantasized about destroying it, tearing it down to pieces.

He says a lot of things. All the words our silence said before, when not one of us listened. Millions of words that reach me and calm me and comfort me. I'm not alone.

xXx

I go back to the fountain again. It is still there, in the park, where I think it all started.

I feel the coldness of the water. It is colder now than it was that night. I think of before it happened, when I ran from home. When Johnny was still alive and the only thing that wasn't normal was my shock and stinging cheek. I think of that - if I had known, if I hadn't run away - but things just happen. I didn't know. How could I have known?

Johnny didn't know either.

I miss him.

If I don't turn my head, he maybe will be standing there, with the smile he used to grin when we were alone. With his greased hair in his eyes and his worn out jean jacket, too thin for the season. But if I turn around, his face will be an odd color of green, and he will be sitting down, with his bloody blade, and he will tell me

_I killed him_

_I had to. They tried to kill you_

I never saw them running. Never heard the tires screech on the asphalt as they drove away. Never saw the killing that changed my life forever. I was too busy fighting for my own life.

David. That was his name. David.

Did he know I couldn't breathe? He must have known. And yet he did it, forced me under and held me there. If he had killed me, the roles would have been reversed. He would have been the killer. Maybe he would have fled to Windrixville, who knows. Or someplace else. Maybe he would have saved some kids, or maybe not. Maybe he would have let them burn to death. Maybe he would have been the one who died in the fire.

Things happen, and sometimes they happen to us. Soda told me. Maybe that is true. I want to believe it - that no one can have control. Then I don't have to feel guilty anymore.

We can't control our thoughts, but maybe we can chose how to react to them. I know I always will be scared to lose someone else, but I need to try to enjoy what I have, while I still have it. I haven't lost them yet, maybe I never will, but if I go around thinking about it all the time, I will lose them every day. I can't stand that.

My hand feels numb. I try to cup it, take some water with me up. I fail, but I bring my hand up to my mouth anyway. It's like I think it will come up red, but it's white, cold as ice. I think of calm lakes on a summer day. I think of gentle rain. I think of running, running, running, and drinking cold water after track. I don't think I'm scared of water anymore. It can be good, too.

I sit down on the pavement, lean my back against the fountain. It's pretty outside, I notice. The leaves are red and orange, yellow and brown. They cover the trees, the ground. It's like another fire is burning around me.

The clouds crack and a ray of sunshine finds it way down. The fire stretches up to the sky, but the air is clear, it doesn't hurt to breathe. I'm not coughing, it doesn't smell, the old wood won't crash down. It's burning but it doesn't hurt.

I stare in awe. Suddenly, I feel so alive.

**The End**

* * *

_I'm sorry for the abrupt ending. I have to be honest - this story has been too much of a struggle for me. I don't know why I lost the right feeling for it, and all my plans for it suddenly just sounded awful in my head. I have had thoughts of taking it down instead of just leaving it, but then I decided to at least try to write a last chapter.  
_

_So I did, and this is the result. I hope you like it and are not too disappointed. I will update my other story in a few days, and that one I really enjoy writing compare to this struggle-piece, so now I will have my full focus on that instead. _

_Thank you so much for reading and all the reviews!_


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